


Lions of the Realm

by Frenchcroatiansquid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU:Robert died in 283 AC, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cersei is in Dorne, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Genna is very angry, Jaime and Kevan are at the Wall, Jaime is feeling conflicted about the lack of genocidal adventures on his CV, Multi, Ned is Regent for his nephew Aegon VI (Jon Snow), Tyrion is in King's Landing, Tywin was executed after the Sack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchcroatiansquid/pseuds/Frenchcroatiansquid
Summary: Lions of the North, lions of the West, lions of the South, and lions of the East - They may be scattered across the realm, but they won't forget what Ned Stark did.A sequel toHeart of Darkness, focusing on House LannisterSet in an alternate universe in which Robert did not survive to see the end of his rebellion. Instead, Ned Stark took the throne to rule as regent on behalf of his nephew Aegon VI (Jon Snow). Tywin was executed for his role in the deaths of Elia and her children as well as for the Sack. Jaime and Kevan were given the option to take the black and have joined the Night's Watch. Tyrion is the new Lord of Casterly Rock. His uncle Tygett rules on his behalf until he comes of age. Genna is trying to rally the West against the King in swaddling clothes and his uncle.





	1. Lions of the North (Jaime)

The fire in the hearth had almost gone out, but the heat of the embers lingered in the small chamber.

The woman's breasts were pointed, her skin radiant in the warm glow of candlelight. Jaime nuzzled her hair, burying his head in her long golden curls. “You remind me of my sister,” he muttered as he entered her.

The woman laughed. “You like fucking your sister?”

 _Oh, you have no idea_. He grabbed her teats firmly with both hands, biting her neck. “I like fucking _you._ ”

That made her squirm and giggle. Her teeth were crooked, and her eyes were brown instead of green. Come to think of it, she looked _nothing_ like Cersei.

For a moment, he wanted to close his eyes and try to imagine himself back at the Rock in his sister's arms, but there was no use in make-belief. _This is my life now_.

The chamber was so small, his foot hit the chair behind the bed when he came, knocking over the sword propped up against it and sending it to the floor with a loud clanking sound.

Somewhere above them, a dog started barking. Jaime wiped his cock and pulled up his fur-lined breeches.

The woman was sprawled on the bed, watching him as he dressed. “All my other customers like to complain about the great injustices done to them that brought them to the Wall. They tell me all their stories, if I want to hear them or not; how they _didn't_ rape that girl, _didn't_ kill that man, _didn't_ steal that loaf of bread. But you? You never talk about yourself.”

 _Here we go again_ , Jaime thought. He had no patience for questions about his past.

“Ah, don't tell me! You're a prince!” She laughed, pressing her legs together. “I have princely seed in my cunt. Who knows, perhaps it will quicken, and I'll give birth to a dragon. Tell me, do the Targaryens still pay the mothers of their bastards in gold?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm a brother of the Night's Watch,” Jaime said curtly.

“Aye, I can see that. But you were someone before you became a brother.” She cocked her head, studying him. “Everyone was.”

 _I was a member of the Kingsguard_ , he almost said before stopping himself just in time. _And a lord's son. My baby brother is the Lord of Casterly Rock, would you believe it?_ “It makes no matter who I was.”

“As you say.” The woman smiled. “But I'll bet you a gold dragon you're a prince.”

Jaime laced up his high boots and put on his black greatcloak. “You just lost a dragon then,” he grinned. “You can pay me later. I need to go. We're leaving for a range at sunrise. Wouldn't want to be late for that.”

“Well, I hope you'll honor us again soon, _brother_.” She bowed her head mockingly.

The whores of Mole's Town seemed to enjoy his company more than that of most of his brothers. They still wanted his money though. He pulled out a handful of coppers from his pocket and put them on the chair.

As he made his way up from the cellars and stepped outside, the cold hit him in the face like an iron fist, taking his breath away. He covered his face with his cloak as he hurried towards the town gate.

The guard standing sentry acknowledged him with a curt nod.

Raids were common towards the end of winter as hunger and desperation sent wildlings across the Wall. Even to the south of them, the number of brigands soared the longer winter dragged on.

But everything seemed quiet enough as Jaime passed through the gate.

The road from Mole's Town was like a long, narrow tunnel carved out between the walls of snow and ice towering on each side. There had been no snowfall in almost a moon's turn, but it would be many more months until all the snow that had accumulated over the winter had melted. Jaime's brothers had told him that sometimes even by the end of summer much of the ice was still there.

The sky was a dark blue when he reached Castle Black, but in the distance, the horizon had begun to turn a pale shade of pink.

Most of the castle was still asleep, but there was light in the stables, and Maester Aemon was up as well, heading for the Lord Commander's Keep. “Good morning, Jaime,” he said. The old maester was in his mid-eighties and near-blind, but he could tell a man by his steps.

“And a good morning to you!” Jaime smiled. While some of the men at the Wall called him Kingslayer to his face, Aemon Targaryen, great-uncle to the man he had killed, always treated him with kindness.

Jaime hurried towards the old Flint Barracks. The brothers he shared a cell with were still fast asleep. He suddenly wished he could lie down and get a good night's sleep, but it was too late for that. He packed a set of spare clothes, his warm sheepskin jerkin, and a woolen blanket before leaving as quietly as he could.

Ser Kevan was up by the time he was back in the courtyard, heading for the common hall to break his fast. His uncle liked to keep to himself, taking his meals earlier than the other brothers, making sure to avoid the busiest hours in the dining hall when it was impossible to escape conversation.

He greeted his nephew, a tired smile on his face. “Jaime. Come join me. It's not good to travel on an empty stomach.”

“I can't,” Jaime said. “I'll be late.” _He looks so old_ , he thought. Once a stout man, his uncle had lost a lot of weight since coming to the Wall, making his pale face look drawn and haggard.

Lord Commander Qorgyle had made him master-at-arms, and Ser Kevan did his duty, but he took no joy in it. New recruits called him Ser Sorrow behind his back, Jaime knew.

His uncle missed his wife, and he missed his sons. Most of all, he missed his brother. _Tywin would have known how to get us out of here_ , he always said. _He would have known how to fix this_. But Tywin was dead, and they were on their own now.

Ser Kevan gave his nephew a quick, awkward hug. “I'll see you when you return then,” he said, leaving the rest unspoken: _Don't you dare disappear beyond the Wall. You are all I have left_.

Jaime watched him hurry off towards the common hall before heading in the opposite direction to meet his brothers in the stables.

 


	2. Lions of the West (Genna)

The sound of the waves crashing against the rock mixed with the cries of seagulls returning from the south. The white raven from the Citadel had announced the beginning of spring a fortnight ago, but the air was still chilly. Genna took a deep breath, the salty breeze of the ocean blowing in her face. For a moment, she was one with the rock beneath her feet and the water deep down below. _This is home_ , she thought. _This is where I was born, and this is where my bones will return when I die_.

It was a rare moment of peace, and Genna knew it wouldn't last long. Soon she would have to return to her study and deal with matters she'd rather not deal with. But standing on top of the Rock listening to the ocean and feeling the wind blowing through her hair gave her courage and reminded her what she was fighting for. _My home, my house, my family_. She took one last look at the vast gray sea before turning around and heading back inside, shutting the wooden door to keep out the wind and the cold.

 _Gerion's raven is late_ , she thought as she seated herself at her desk by the fireplace. The delay was beginning to trouble her. Usually, her brother sent word from King's Landing at least once in a moon's turn, but this time, she had been waiting for almost two months with no news. _Might be the bird was shot down_.

Some in King's Landing still mistrusted her, even though she had surrendered what felt like half her family to guarantee the loyalty of her house. First, Genna had offered Tyrion, thinking that would surely satisfy the Lord Regent, but Eddard Stark had insisted on a larger party “to ensure the safety of the Lord of Casterly Rock,” so Genna had sent her sons Cleos and Lyonel to go with her nephew. She would have gladly parted with her husband as well, but Lord Eddard had shown no interest in taking Emmon Frey hostage. Gerion had volunteered to accompany the boys, and Genna had let him.

 _Whoever shot down his raven will be thoroughly disappointed_ , she thought, smiling to herself. Her brother knew better than to include anything in his reports from the capital that could arouse suspicion. To an outsider, they were just long letters speaking of her sons' and her nephew's life at court.

A rap on the door jarred her from her thoughts. _Maester Alyn_. The man was in his seventies and had served at Casterly Rock for as long as Genna could remember. She trusted him as much as she was ever like to trust any man.

“My lady.” He bowed. “You've received a message from Dorne.”

Genna beckoned the maester to come closer. “See that you keep this to yourself,” she told him, taking the paper roll from his wrinkled hands.

As soon as he was gone, she unsealed it. “Yronwood remembers.” The message read. That was all, but it was enough. Genna took one last look at it before placing it in the fire.

Then she called her servants to send for Cersei.

Her niece was dressed in a long winter gown of green velvet, her golden curls tumbling over her shoulders. _She is strong_ , Genna thought. _Almost as strong as she looks. I can count on her_. Nothing remained of the girl who had cried in her arms for days after she had told her of Jaime's fate. She bent down to kiss Genna's cheeks before seating herself opposite her. “I was in the Sept, praying for father,” she said calmly.

Genna knew that wasn't true, but it made no difference to her. “Good. Very soon you will be able to do more to avenge your father than to sit in the Sept and pray,” she said. “You are to wed Ser Anders Yronwood.”

Cersei looked at her as if Genna had slapped her in the face. “I will not!”

“Tyg and I have already agreed on it.” It was only half a lie. Tygett would not find out the details of the marriage agreement until Cersei was well on her way to Dorne and recalling her would be impossible without affronting the Warden of the Stone Way. “I've given you enough time to grieve. Ser Anders will be the Lord of Yronwood after his father, a worthy match, and you are a woman of almost one-and-twenty. It is time you were married and did your duty for your family.”

“My _duty_?” Anger sparkled in her niece's bright green eyes. “You think you are helping our house by making common cause with the men who killed my father? By giving me to the Dornish as a hostage? What a brilliant plan.”

“I should send you to your room with a history book," Genna said. “The Yronwoods used to be kings in Dorne. Lord Ormond assures me they have not forgotten that. And Oberyn Martell slew Edgar Yronwood with a poisoned spear. They remember that as well.”

“If you think you will make friends in Dorne you are mistaken,” Cersei shot back. “The Yronwoods are just as treacherous as the rest of their lot.”

“Friends?” Genna shook her head. “No. We will not make friends, not in Dorne nor anywhere. We cannot truly rely on anyone but ourselves, child. But our enemies' enemies are plenty, and I seek to make good use of them. There have always been lions in the west, Lord Eddard sent lions to the north, and I myself sent lions to the east. Your wedding to Ser Anders will ensure there will be lions in the south when we need them.”

Cersei studied her in silence. “Will you share your plans with me?” She finally asked. “Or am I simply to walk into the serpents' nest trusting that you know what you are doing?”

Genna sighed. “The fewer people know, the better,” she said. “I will tell you no more than you need to know. But trust me when I say that House Lannister is not the only one that wants to put an end to the dragons and the wolves on the throne once and for all.”

 


	3. Lions of the East (Tyrion)

When he stood on his toes, he could touch the tips of Balerion's teeth. They were black and shiny and as sharp as the blades protruding from the sides of the Iron Throne. _As sharp as the sword of the King's Justice that took my lord father's head_.

Tyrion sucked the blood off his finger. Somehow, he always ended up cutting himself on a tooth, but he couldn't resist; he just had to touch them. _The Black Dread. Even his flame was black_.

He liked being in the Great Hall, listening to the Hand of the King as he received petitions. It made him forget who he was – _what_ he was. And it was not like he could do much else around King's Landing.

Cleos squired for Ser Addam who had accompanied them from the Westerlands, and Lyonel served as a page for Lord Eddard's own sworn man Jon Umber. Nobody wanted to take a dwarf boy of almost four-and-ten into their service though. _I would make a terribly short knight, I suppose_.

But as long as he kept quiet, Lord Jon allowed him to accompany him when he held court in the King's stead. Sometimes, Tyrion would linger after the other men had left to look at the dragon skulls on the walls: Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor, Caraxes... He could name them all and tell their histories to anyone who would listen.

When he wasn't in the throne room, he was in the library, devouring tome after tome, reading about the history of the Seven Kingdoms, the Valyrian Freehold, about the Wall in the North, the Summer Isles in the South, and about dragons – he loved to read about dragons most of all. The capital's collection held books he could only dream of growing up at the Rock - and countless letters and scrolls that no more than a few handful of maesters had ever seen.

Grand Maester Ebrose allowed Tyrion to read anything so long as he handled the manuscripts with care and kept everything in good order. “You should visit the Citadel if it's knowledge you're craving,” the soft-spoken man would tell him. “You ought to ask leave of Lord Eddard to travel to Oldtown.”

But Tyrion was old enough to know the Lord Regent would never grant him such a request.

Someone tapped his shoulder. “Ser Gerold!”

The White Bull towered above him. “Lord Arryn has asked me to see you don't get lost wandering among the dragons.”

 _I've never heard of a man getting lost in the Great Hall_ , Tyrion wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He'd heard Gerion and Ser Addam whisper about the news from the West – or the South, rather. _My sister wed Lord Ormond's heir_. He knew enough about the history of Dorne to understand that the Crown was not pleased.

Nor his uncle, for that matter. Tyrion had never seen him so angry. Gerion who always smiled and was so slow to anger had slammed his fist on the table and cursed his sister. “That she would risk the life of her own blood for this useless alliance.”

Tyrion sighed. _Well, what did I expect?_ “The Lord Hand is kind to send you to keep an eye on me so nobody snatches me and ships me back to my aunt.” Somehow, the only thing worse than being barely a step above a prisoner was people thinking he did not _know_ he was a hostage.

The old Lord Commander of the Kingsguard did not deny it. “You can come back tomorrow to look at the skulls,” he said, not unkindly. “But it's late. I'll have to take you back to Maegor's Holdfast for tonight. Hand's orders.”

As if being ordered out of the throne room like a child wasn't humiliating enough, Ser Gerold insisted on accompanying him all the way back to the Lannister quarters, handing him over to his uncle. Gerion was his cheerful self again. “There's lamprey pie and minced lamb on the table. Have some. It's good!”

But Tyrion wasn't hungry. Instead, he seated himself by the window, looking out on the Narrow Sea below.  _I'm almost a man grown. I would have been free to travel the world two years from now if I had stayed at the Rock_. There were so many places he still wanted to see: Oldtown, the Free Cities, the ruins of Old Valyria, and everything that lay beyond. Instead, he was trapped in King's Landing, made to pay for the sins of his father.

 _The sins of a stranger_. Tyrion had known his father little more than the mother he himself had put in the grave. Lord Tywin had rarely ever visited Casterly Rock while he still served as Aerys's Hand, and after he had returned following his dismissal, he had been little more than a shadow looming over his childhood, a pair of pale green eyes looking down on him with disapproval.

He had felt oddly indifferent when his aunt had told him of his father's death. When they'd returned his bones to the Rock to be interred in the Hall of Heroes, he'd long been on his way to King's Landing. _A dwarf for a set of bones. Hard to say who got the worse end of the deal, my aunt or the King in swaddling clothes._

He _had_ cried when Genna told him of Jaime – Jaime who had always been kind to him banished to a frozen Northern wasteland, all for a crime Tyrion was certain his brother had not committed. _If I was free at least, I could go visit him at the Wall_.

But he wasn't free, he knew. He was a hostage. 

 


	4. Lions of the South (Cersei)

Cersei stared out to the sea. The Princess of Dorne was visiting on her way to King's Landing, and Lord Ormond had sent his sons and their households to greet her by the docks. He himself was too old and frail to stand outside for long.

Summer was almost upon them, and the scorching heat and hot winds coming from the desert south of Yronwood Castle were beginning to be near unbearable. On some days, the breeze from the ocean provided a little relief, but Cersei missed the hazy skies above the Rock, the strong wind ruffling her hair, the air suffused with cool droplets of water that would settle on her skin and left traces of salt as they dried.

The _Nymeria_ was approaching fast. Cersei still recognized her from the time the Dornish fleet had visited the Rock when she was no older than seven or eight. The Princess's flagship was a majestic three-decked galley with bright orange sails that dipped five hundred oars and was escorted by six smaller war ships.

A sudden gust of wind swirled up dust from the dry planks of the wide pier, and Cersei quickly shielded her face with the long white veil covering her head. Ser Anders was by her side, his sand-colored coat fluttering behind him. When she had arrived in Dorne, she had expected to wed a dark-skinned man with black hair and black eyes, but her husband's shoulder length curls were lighter than her own, his skin freckled, his eyes a radiant blue.

It had not taken her long to discover that House Yronwood differed from their fellow Dornishmen in other regards as well. Ser Anders had been nothing but courteous to her, but when she had jested one night that by Dornish law, Casterly Rock ought to be hers, not her brother's, he had laughed at her. “They may follow Rhoynish law in Sunspear, but Yronwood does not submit to such follies. No woman who still has a brother will ever be Warden of the Stone Way – no woman _at all_ if it were up to me.”

She had put on a smile and laughed along with him, but even the sweet Dornish wine tasted bitter that night. _I'm his prized Andal bride, a docile brood mare to give him fair-skinned sons_.

Seagulls were circling in the air above them, squawking as four sailors jumped off the _Nymeria_ to secure the galley to the mooring and lower a heavy wooden ramp. Cersei barely recognized any of the faces that disembarked, but she could make out Prince Oberyn next to a black-haired woman in a red silk dress. _And his mother. How she has changed._

The last time Cersei had seen the Princess of Dorne, she had stood tall and proud, her black eyes full of energy. Now, she was fat and sluggish, forced to lean on a stick as she walked. But the worst were her eyes. Cersei had expected anger or hatred, but her eyes were those of a dying woman who had drunk too much milk of the poppy to dull her pain. _And might be that's exactly what the maesters have been giving her._

Still, the Princess greeted each of them in turn. “Your mother and I were friends,” she said as she pressed her sweaty face against Cersei's cheek, her voice flat. “Any child of Joanna's is welcome in Dorne.”

Her son helped her into the litter they had brought to carry her. Their procession was slow, but Cersei was glad they were moving at last, gradually making their way back to the castle and out of the sun.

Her head was still hot and aching during the welcoming banquet later that night. Lord Ormond had told her to stay as quiet as possible while the Martells were visiting, and with her head pounding, Cersei was happy to follow his orders for once. There was no-one she could have talked to anyway. Ser Anders was speaking to his brother Edric, and Ser Daven and Ser Garrison were seated below the dais well out of her reach.

The wine in her cup was a deep red the color of blood that looked almost black in the dim candlelight. It was strong yet with a cloyingly sweet taste that masked its true potency. Cersei felt almost dizzy as her eyes roamed over the hall.

The Princess who had sat in the seat of honor next to Lord Ormond had retired after only a few bites, and the Lord of Yronwood himself had not lasted much longer.

Prince Oberyn sat across from her on the other side of the dais, the woman Cersei had seen with him earlier next to him, her arm draped across his shoulder. She had changed into a tight-fitting golden dress that highlighted every curve of her body. _She's carrying his child_ , Cersei realized. The bump was small but unmistakable even from a distance, and the woman clearly made no effort to hide it. She smiled when she noticed Cersei's gaze.

Cersei quickly turned to her husband. “Is that Prince Oberyn's wife?”

Ser Anders' face darkened. “ _That_ is Oberyn's _whore_.” He said. “I did not want to seat her on the dais, but _Her Grace_ insisted I give her son's whore a place. You will stay away from her.”

Cersei smiled. The woman across the table had just become a lot more interesting. “As you say, my lord.”

 


	5. Lions of the North (Kevan)

The sound of wood hitting wood echoed through the yard.

The man in front of him was clutching his sword, feet parallel, knees trembling, bracing for the first blow. _If he wasn't so afraid of what I might do to him later, he would drop his weapon and run_ , Kevan knew.

He circled the man once to see if he would follow before hitting him in the chest with the flat side of his training sword. It was only a light strike, but the man stumbled backward and fell into a puddle of icy water.

Kevan helped him back up. “Go get changed. And remember what I told you about your footwork next time. If you stand like that, a gust of wind can knock you over.”

He'd trained boys before, but with these new recruits, he had no idea where to begin. _How can I teach a man of forty what he should have learned at seven?_ Half the men had never even seen a proper sword, much less held one.

A few of his recruits were younger, a handful no older than fourteen or fifteen, but even they were so slow to learn it was all he could do not to scream at them.

The next boy to face him was almost as tall as Ser Gregor, but he shared nothing of Clegane's temperament judging by the way he ducked and shied away from every strike.

 _We could have used someone like Gregor at the Wall_ , Kevan thought as he tried in vain to provoke the boy into a counter-attack. _He would have been worth a hundred of these men._

But the giant knight was dead. On their way north, he had developed a sore on his cheek. At first, it was no more than a small red spot, but as they traveled onward, it had turned bigger and bigger until it had covered half his face and started oozing puss.

They had covered the wound in clay, but it had continued festering until he was too feverish to walk. He did not fit into the small carriage that held their provisions, so they'd left him to die under a tree. Kevan had wanted to drive a sword through his heart to end his suffering, but Gregor had fought back, and even weakened by fever, he was strong. In the end, he had given up and simply left the boy.

The horn sounded once from atop the Wall. _They're back._ Kevan lowered his sword.

Now that it was summer, the rangers were less like to freeze to death, but milder temperatures also meant that wildlings were on the move in larger numbers again. It was only when Kevan had complained to Lord Commander Qorgyle how often Jaime seemed to be among those chosen for rangings that he had learned his nephew always volunteered. _That stupid boy is going to get himself killed._

Something hit his breastplate, and for a moment, he struggled to keep his balance. The tall boy looked at the sword in his hands, frightened of what he had done.

Kevan patted his back. “Well done. Keep practicing, all of you. I'll be back in an hour.”

He arrived just in time to see the rangers emerge from the tunnel, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted Jaime among them.

His nephew seemed oddly pensive when he greeted him, but before he could ask what was wrong, they were interrupted by Qorgyle's steward. “Lord Commander wants to see you, Ser.”

Lord Daeron Qorgyle was in his sixties, a tall, sinewy man with a bald head and silver in his dark brown beard. He was sharing a cup of hot spiced wine with First Ranger Mormont and a young man about Jaime's age with black hair and bright blue eyes.

Their guest wore a brown greatcloak trimmed with fur over his padded leather jerkin. _Not a man of the Watch_. It took Kevan a moment to realize who he was.

“Lord Benjen.” _The wolf pup_. He could take a guess why the Stark was visiting. _Too many Southerners and Westermen at the Wall for his liking, so he figures he'd best take a look himself._

“Ser Kevan, I assume.” The pup's broad smile extended to his eyes. “I am no lord. Only the Stark in Winterfell while my brother is away.”

Mormont got up. “Please excuse me. I need to go talk to my men, see what news they bring back from beyond the Wall.” _He has that same look in his eyes as Jaime_ , Kevan realized. _Something is going on, and it's not good_.

Lord Qorgyle gestured at the empty chair. “Sit with us. Lord Benjen has important matters to discuss with us.”

“I've brought new recruits,” the young man said, the smile still on his face. “Just a handful, but there's two squires among them, and even a trained knight.”

Kevan nodded. He knew he would have to choose his words carefully. “Thank you, my lord. We can use all the men you can give us. But I assume that's not what you want to talk about.”

Qorgyle took a sip from his cup. “More and more people from the Gift are moving south to escape wildling raids.” It was an open secret. Kevan had taken a look at the Lord Steward's books. With entire villages deserted, the Watch's incomes were dwindling.

The smile had left the pup's face. “I've spoken to my brother in King's Landing about the Watch. He understands our concerns. No matter what we do, it will take many years to return the Watch to its former strength, but you train the new recruits, Ser. What do _you_ think it would take to make the Black Brothers a force to reckon with again?”

 _A war_ , Kevan thought. _No, a never-ending series of wars to send a steady supply of trained men from the losing side_. Thus far, the king in swaddling clothes and the men who reigned on his behalf had disappointed in that regard. Their ruling alliance was fragile, but they'd kept the peace against all odds. “Most of our recruits are too inexperienced and too old to learn to fight properly,” he said. “How can we defend against wildling attacks if all we get is criminals retched up from the dungeons across the realm? We need men who know how to fight. Or... or younger boys, my lord, boys we can train like pages and squires.”

The young Stark studied him. “We cannot force innocent men to take the Black,” he said. “Much less children. But I think what my brother and I have in mind can help you with the problems you're facing.”

 


	6. Lions of the West (Tygett)

It was almost nightfall. Tygett's eyes were burning, and his back was aching from the long and tedious hours of holding court.

He looked at the two men in front of him. One had fallen to his knees, the other stood motionless. “You will return this man's sheep,” he told the standing man. “As for you,” he looked down at the figure hunching on the floor, “you will return the money he paid you plus thirty silvers as recompense for the trouble you've given him. If I find you making false claims about your sheep again, I will have your head.”

 _Sheep, sheep, nothing but sheep._ Over half the disputes he settled involved sheep, their number, their age, the pastures they grazed, the thickness of the wool they produced, the quantity and quality of their milk... Some petitioners had traveled from as far as the hills surrounding the Golden Tooth and the salt marshes near Crakehall to seek justice from him.

A number of cases involved some complication or another that explained why the lesser lords had refused to pass a sentence, but more often than not, he suspected that his bannermen handed cases over to him out of sheer laziness. _Like this one_. At first he had held court no more than once in a moon's turn, but now he found himself sitting in the Great Hall hearing about sheep almost twice a week.

The two men before him had the wits of sheep as well, but at least neither of them dared to protest. Both bowed their heads and thanked him for the wisdom of his sentence.

 _Did father ever have to deal with any of this?_ He must have, at least while he still held court. Tywin would have made sure to mete out harsh punishments to all disputing parties to discourage the smallfolk from taking up his time with their squabbles. _Kevan though, Kevan probably learned a lot about sheep while he was castellan, both in their animal and their human form_.

Sometimes he wondered how his brother fared at the Wall. Kevan had sent a brief message informing him that he and Jaime had arrived safely, but that was the last Tygett had heard from him.  _He's doing his duty, most like. He always has_.

“I will take no more petitions today,” he announced to the rest of the people waiting in the hall. “If you've traveled far and cannot afford your own accommodation, the steward will arrange a place for you to stay.”

The two men he had heard last exchanged a quick glance. Something about the look in their eyes bothered him, but he was too tired to deal with them anymore. It was late, and he still had to speak with his sister.

He found Genna in the rookery with the maester. _Of course_. It was always the same. He had to deal with the smallfolk while his sister played the game of thrones.

“What's that?” He pointed at the small scroll in Maester Alyn's hand.

“A letter for Rhaella,” Genna said. “She's been sending me messages, and the laws of courtesy compel me to reply. Nothing but harmless women's talk, I assure you. Alyn keeps her letters. Feel free to take a look.”

“No need. But we _do_ need to talk about the Queen.”

Ravens flew between Dragonstone and Casterly Rock at least once a month, and Tygett wasn't sure he even knew of half the messages that were being exchanged. Most letters he'd seen sounded harmless enough. Still, it was a dangerous game his sister played.

“There _is_ no Queen, Tyg. The King is five and as yet unwed, as befits a boy his age.”

He slammed his fist on the maester's desk. “Enough. You _know_ who I mean.”

Genna studied him. “We'd be stupid not to make common cause with Rhaella,” she said, suddenly serious. “Ned Stark offered her a seat on the Small Council, but she declined. She wants the wolves gone as much as we do.”

“I know.” Everybody knew, and that was the trouble. _We cannot be seen talking to her._ “These men raised their banners against my family,” she had reportedly said. “The Usurpers killed my son, and now they have the nerve to assert before the realm that they are ruling on behalf of a boy they claim is my grandson.”

“Rhaella's strength is growing,” Genna continued unperturbed. “She's a good ally. Her ships have taken over Driftmark, and she now commands their fleet. That's sixty war galleys, combined. And Jon Connington has traveled to Essos to buy her an army with gold.”

 _And whose gold would that be, I wonder?_ He already knew the answer. All the queen had was what little revenue her small dragonglass mine yielded. “Dragonstone is too close to King's Landing. The Crown will have to move against Rhaella sooner or later. When they come for her, I don't want them to find Lannister gold in her coffers.”

Genna laced her fingers together. “They won't. The money will all be spent. And I doubt it will be the Crown coming for _her_.”

She was just like Tywin, playing with their lives as if they were no more than rabble in a game of cyvasse. But his brother, as insufferable a man as he had been, had been the rightful Lord of the Rock, at least. _Genna though..._ His sister paid him fealty on the surface, but as soon as she thought nobody was looking, she went behind his back, sending ravens, holding talks, _scheming_ , always scheming.

“If Jon Arryn kills our brother or Tyrion, I'll hold you responsible,” he'd told her when he had first caught her writing letters to his own bannermen. “You'll be a kinslayer in my eyes, and in the eyes of the gods as well, if they have any sense.”

She had only laughed at that. “Jon Arryn is busy keeping the peace and preventing his ward from letting his honor get the best of him. Believe me, unless we rally our banners and all but march on King's Landing, he'll leave their heads firmly on their shoulders.” _Ever since she married Cersei to that Dornishman and got away with it, she feels invincible_.

Maester Alyn cleared his throat, jarring him from his thoughts. “Your brother is not wrong, my lady. The Citadel may support you, but they will not help Rhaella seat her son on the throne.”

Genna waved him aside. “Yes, yes, she's succumbed to madness they say, sending for sorcerers and necromancers from the East to try to hatch her dragon-eggs. But I say the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If the Archmaesters cannot see that, perhaps they should reconsider their dealings with House Lannister as well.”

Tygett glared at her. “ _I_ am still the head of House Lannister, and _I_ say there will be no more messages to Rhaella.” He snatched the piece of paper from Maester Alyn's hand and threw it in the fire. “From now on, I will see every single letter you send. There will be no more secret dealings, not with the Queen, not with the Citadel, not with my bannermen. Nothing.” _I will not let you destroy our House._

For a moment, Genna looked almost surprised. Then, her mouth twisted into a smile. “Very well, brother, as you say.” She put her arm around his shoulder. “Come, Tygett, let us speak no more of this. I'm hungry. The cooks have prepared wild boar, I've been told. There will be mummers, too. I do love a good mummers' show.”

 _Yes you do_ , Tygett thought. _You do indeed_.

 


	7. Lions of the East (Gerion)

The crows had feasted on the heads on the castle wall, leaving nothing but empty sockets where the eyes had been. One man had pressed his lips together in a thin line in the moment of death while the other's mouth was wide open, twisted into a scream. 

 _Lord Selwyn and Ser Eldon_ , he knew. _A warning to the young stag at Storm's End_. He had overheard Lord Jon and Ned Stark arguing about Stannis Baratheon. He didn't stay long enough to learn what they agreed on in the end, but _this_ seemed to be their compromise. It made him shudder to think what kind of compromise they might come up with one day to deal with House Lannister.

“Who knows, perhaps I'll join you up there soon,” he told the rotting heads. He turned around to leave only to find a woman in a long sea green dress blocking his path on the narrow walkway. _Laenara Velaryon_.

She reminded Gerion of Queen Rhaella with her long silver hair and her purple eyes, only younger. _And a hostage, here to guarantee the loyalty of Driftmark_.  Addam was fond of Laenara, but Gerion himself preferred to keep his distance from anyone who could raise suspicions. _Too many eyes and ears in the Red Keep._ And there was something about her that unsettled him.

“A traitor's brother, and a traitor's sister meeting by the Traitor's Walk. How fitting.”

Her smile gave him chills. Gerion stepped aside to let her pass. “Last I checked, your brother had not committed treason yet.”

Laenara did not move. “Oh, but he will. He's not one to refuse Rhaella should she come asking. And when he does, my head will end up on a spike just like theirs. My days are numbered.”

He could not argue with that. “Make them count then. That's what _I_ mean to do.”

He tried to gently push past her, but she was still blocking his path. “Lord Selwyn's head looks a bit like your brother's," she said, the same sly smile still on her face. “Did you know I was here the day they killed him?”

Over the years, Gerion had heard more than his fair share of stories, and he did not particularly care to hear any of them again. “A great many people were in King's Landing on that day.”  _If I want to know what they saw, I'll be sure to ask them_. 

“Lord Eddard took his head himself, just like he took these traitors' heads.” She pointed at the spikes and the rotting flesh.

 _Now_ that's _a story I_ haven't  _heard. Why would she tell me such an obvious lie?_  “Traitors,” he shrugged, “or simply too ambitious, stepping on the wrong toes at the wrong time. We'll never find out now that they're dead.” He smiled. “I have to go, I'm afraid. I have business with the man who killed them.”

That sufficed for her to let him pass, but he could feel her eyes on his back as he walked away.

Lord Eddard was in his solar in Maegor's Holdfast bent over a map spread across the table, Varys by his side.

“You wanted to speak to me, my lord?”

The Stark looked up. “Yes.” He gave Varys a quick nod.

The eunuch took the hint and excused himself, but Gerion knew it made no difference if he left or stayed. _No doubt his mice will tell him anything we discuss_.

The Young Wolf offered him a cup of wine but took none himself. “How old is Lord Tyrion now?” He asked.

“Thirteen.”

“Lord Varys tells me he has been seen wandering through the tunnels and vaults beneath the Red Keep.”

 _If that is all the Spider has been telling him, we can count ourselves lucky._ “He is bored, my lord. Both his cousins serve as squires, but Tyrion doesn't have much to do.”

Ned Stark nodded. “I understand. But we can't have him wandering about the dungeons. He could get lost.”

“Or accidentally stumble upon a ship that will take him back to Casterly Rock?” Gerion suggested. “Along with myself and all the other Lannisters?”

“Some of my advisers are concerned you might try to flee now that men are losing their heads, that is true. Be that as it may, the boy needs an occupation. I've decided to make him my cupbearer.”

“That is a great honor, my lord,” Gerion said. “But I'm afraid my nephew will see it as a slight. He's almost fourteen, much older than the other cupbearers at court. He'll believe you are making mock of him because of his size.” Tyrion liked to think of himself as a man almost grown. _I'm not like to get much taller than this after all_ , he always said.

The Young Wolf's face hardened. “It has already been decided. How the boy feels about it is none of my concern at this point. He will move into the royal quarters on the morrow.”

Gerion bowed. “As you say, my lord. I will let him know.” _And won't that be a cheerful conversation to have_ , he thought. _I suppose I can tell him he should be glad we won't be ending up as eyeless heads on top of the castle wall... for now._

 

 


	8. Lions of the South (Cersei II)

Her head was spinning from all the wine she had drunk. _Too much, too strong_. Dornish wine was _too strong_ , making her feel dizzy after no more than a cup or two, clouding her mind. She knew she ought to drink less, but it helped calm her nerves and made her forget.

It had been more than two moon's turns, and their guests from Sunspear showed no inclination to leave any time soon. Cersei was tired of hiding her face. “It's for your own good,” Lord Ormond had told her. “The Princess may accept your presence in Dorne, but sadly, her sandy bannermen feel differently.”

It was _infuriating_ to have to tiptoe around her own home, and no matter how much she wished herself back at the Rock, Yronwood _was_ her home now.

Cersei tripped and had to hold on to the wall to steady herself. When she looked up, two men were blocking her path. She vaguely recognized their faces but could not remember their names. A red tunic with three black scorpions embroidered on the front identified the older of the two as a member of House Qorgyle. The other man was no older than Cersei herself, dressed in a surcoat of crimson and yellow.

 _A madman of Hellholt_. She had always known she would run into an Uller sooner or later, but just seeing the colors of his house made her stomach turn. Or perhaps it was the wine. _Keep walking_ , she told herself. _Just keep walking_.

“Whore!” The younger man spit on the ground, barely missing the tip of her shoes.

Cersei could feel her face turn red with anger. _He'll regret this_ , she told herself. _Once House Yronwood rules in Dorne, I'll make him regret this._

She took a deep breath, raised her chin and pushed past the men, but the older of the two grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. “Your husband thinks he can get away with treason.” Cersei could smell the wine on his breath. “He thinks he can marry a lion whore and no-one will say anything. Well, I say we teach this whore a lesson.”

His grip was strong, but Cersei was too angry to be afraid. “ _Let go of me!_ ” She ripped her hand free and struck his face so hard he lost balance and hit his head on an iron mount holding a torch.

Before she realized what had happened, the man grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall. “How dare you! I'll kill you!” His eyes were filled with cold rage, blood running down his face. Somewhere in the distance, Cersei heard a scream as her legs gave out underneath her. The younger man was shaking his companion, trying to pull him away from her.

“Let her go!” A voice cut through the noise. “Let her go, or you'll have to answer to your prince.”

 _Your prince prince prince..._  the words echoed through her head. The grip around her neck loosened. Cersei looked up and saw a woman in a sleeveless dress towering above them. _Oberyn's whore. Ellaria_.

“You don't tell me what to do!” The man glared at the black-haired woman, but he released Cersei. “You think just because you're fucking the prince you can tell us what to do. Just wait until he discards you. You'll be back to pleasuring men in a whorehouse in no time. I'll come for you then! You just wait!”

Ellaria seemed unfazed by his threats. “Leave now, and perhaps Oberyn won't hear of this.”

The man met her gaze, and for a moment, it looked as if he might attack her, too, but then he gestured at the younger man, and the two of them hurried off.

Suddenly, the woman was by Cersei's side, resting her hand on her shoulder, gently brushing her hair aside to take a look at her face. “You're hurt. Come with me.”

Cersei wanted to protest and tell her she was fine, but instead, she found herself following the Dornishwoman up a flight stairs and into a large, open room.

“Come, come... You're safe here...” 

Before she knew, she was sitting on a four-poster bed. Ellaria handed her a glass of wine. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.” _I shouldn't. I can't trust her. I've already had too much..._

She emptied the glass in one go, feeling it tingle on her tongue and burn in her throat. _Sweet and strong_. She tried to remember how many cups she'd had that night but couldn't say. _Four? Five?_

The Dornishwoman refilled her glass and took a deep swallow before handing it back to her. She smiled at Cersei. Her eyes were dark and full of... _passion? Lust?_

Cersei pulled back. “If my husband finds us here...” she began, but Ellaria put a finger on her lips, hushing her.

“He won't, I promise.” She slipped off her dress. The taught skin on her raised belly was glowing in the light of the candles. She sat down beside Cersei, kissing her neck. “You're beautiful. _So_ beautiful...” 

 _She's a whore_ , Cersei thought. But that was just what her husband said. And whore or not, she felt herself oddly drawn to this woman. _Would Jaime be jealous if he knew?_ She tried to picture him in her head, but his face was as blurry as her surroundings.

She took another sip from her cup and put it aside. “What of _your_ husband?” She heard herself ask, placing a hand on the woman's stomach, feeling the child inside move. “What would he say if he knew you were here with me?”

“Oberyn and I aren't married. And he knows where to find me.” The Dornishwoman slipped Cersei's dress off her shoulders, showering her breasts with kisses. “You're beautiful. I've wanted you since the day I first saw you standing on that dock to welcome us. I've wanted you more than anything.”

 _She's a bastard_ , Cersei remembered. _All bastards are filled with lust..._ But somehow, she did not mind. It had been so long since someone had truly desired her, it felt good, _so good_.

Ellaria's hands were caressing her, her tongue flicking over her nipple. The ceiling was spinning as Cersei rested her head on the soft cushions of the bed.

The Dornishwoman spread her legs apart, running a single digit over her ladyparts before lowering her head and placing a kiss on her mound. “So beautiful,” she mumbled as she slipped a finger inside of her. “So beautiful. Your husband does not deserve you.”

 _She's drunk herself_ , Cersei realized, but none of that mattered. She closed her eyes, fully surrendering herself to the woman's skilled hands and the sweet ache between her legs.

The sound of a door interrupted them. When Cersei opened her eyes, a man stood by their side, dark hair falling into his face. She grabbed the sheets to cover herself, but Ellaria only smiled. “Come, my love. Join us. The night is still young.”

 _What would my lord husband say if I bore him an olive-skinned heir?_ Her ladyparts were still throbbing, and just imagining the shock on Ser Anders' face made her want a taste of the Dornish prince.

But Oberyn shook his head. “No. I prefer watching the two of you.” His smile was wide, but there was something about it that Cersei disliked, something dark. “Tell her who your father is,” he told his lover. “Tell her who is _fucking_ her.” His voice was so cruel, so full of hatred, it gave Cersei chills.

Ellaria's face turned pale. “Leave it be, my love,” she said. “This is not why I'm here.”

“Tell her,” Oberyn insisted. “I want her to know.”

“You would have married this woman if your mother had had her way,” the Dornishwoman said softly, pointing at Cersei. “You said so yourself. Show her some respect for your mother's sake.”

“For my mother's sake?!” Oberyn spat the words.

Ellaria rose, slipping into her silken dress. “I will _not_ be a part of this,” she said. “I should have known this was all you cared about. Cruelty will not bring your sister back.” She bent down and placed a kiss on Cersei's lips. “Whatever he may tell you, this is _not_ why I did this,” she repeated before rushing out the door.

Oberyn cursed and ran after her, slamming the door shut.

The sound reverberated through Cersei's head.  _I need to go_ , she thought through the haze of the wine. _I need to get out of here_.

 


	9. Lions of the North (Jaime II)

The Wall had been weeping for days, sending trickles of water down to the base hundreds of feet below them. _This_ _is_ _as_ _warm_ _as_ _it's_ _ever_ _like_ _to_ _get_ _this_ _far_ _up_ _north,_ Jaime thought. _This_ _will_ _be_ _my_ _summer_ _till_ _the_ _end_ _of_ _my_ _days._ He could deal with the biting cold of winter, but the rays of sunshine on his face made him feel strangely melancholy.

Lord Commander Qorgyle had stayed down below, so it was just him, First Ranger Mormont, young Edd Tollet, and the wolf pup with his guards on top of the Wall. He could see the heart trees in the distance, a small red dot in the endless white desert. Just thinking of it made him shudder. _Damn_ _you_ _Northerners_ _and_ _your_ _bloody_ _trees._ _Why_ _can't_ _you_ _take_ _your_ _vows_ _before_ _the_ _Seven like everyone else_?

“As a boy I always dreamed of joining the Night's Watch,” the Stark said, laughing. “To ride beyond the Wall and fight the beasts and monsters living in the ice. Oh how _glorious_ I thought it would be.”

 _He_ _still_ _looks_ _half a_ _boy_ , Jaime thought, quickly turning his head so the young wolf could not see his face. _No_ _older_ _than_ _twenty_ , _but_ _here_ _he_ _is_ , _Lord_ _of_ _Winterfell_ _in_ _all_ _but_ _name_ , _Warden_ _of_ _the_ _North, and married to that Dornish beauty half the realm wants to bed. What was her name again?_ Even Cersei had found the woman intriguing with her dark hair and her purple eyes, he remembered.

“Do you still, my lord?” Edd asked, ignoring the disapproving look Mormont shot him. “Dream of joining the Night's Watch?” Sometimes Jaime wondered if the whores of Mole's Town had ever heard Edd's true story, but he doubted the man was any more forthcoming with them than he was with his black brothers. _Can't fault him for that. Sometimes it's best people don't know what you came here for._

Benjen Stark looked up at the blue sky and then down at the endless white stretching all the way to the horizon. “On a day like this, how could I not?” He turned around, a sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “I was born a third son. That black coat was mine by rights. It would have been, if it hadn't been for the Rebellion. And who knows, maybe it will be one day, when Aegon is grown and my brother returns to Winterfell.”

 _I_ _doubt_ _your_ _brother_ _will live long enough to return north_ , Jaime thought. The realm was falling apart if the rumors circulating among the men of the Night's Watch could be believed. _There'll be another rebellion soon enough, and I won't be shedding any tears when they come for dear Ned's head_. He still remembered those cold gray eyes fixing him, _judging_ him.

“You'll be disappointed when you return to us as a black brother, my lord,” Edd interrupted his thoughts. “There are no beasts and monsters beyond the Wall. Just snow and ice. You will find lots of _that_ though.”

The wolf pup turned around, pointing south. “No monsters? Tell that to the men living in the Gift. To them, the wildlings are monsters who come to kill them, steal their grain and take their women.”

“There are hardly any men left,” Mormont remarked, breaking his long silence.

The young Stark nodded. “Aye, my lord. I mean to change that. The land will be settled again. I've spoken with the Lord Commander.”

Jaime looked at Mormont. _The man likes this none. And little wonder. It is his job to keep the wildlings at bay. No man likes to admit failure._

But the First Ranger surprised him. “It's not just the Gift that's causing us trouble,” he said. “We've been losing men beyond the Wall. They disappear during ranges never to return. I used to think it was the cold driving them mad, but summer is upon us, yet it keeps happening.”

The young Stark frowned. “That is strange. How many?”

“About one or two in a moon's turn,” Jeor Mormont said. “The last disappeared when we took the new recruits to take their vows before the heart trees just a day ago.”

“Do you reckon they were taken by wildlings?”

 _No_. Just thinking of it made the hair stand up on Jaime's back. _There were no wildlings anywhere near. Just those damned weirwood trees_. But he could hardly tell the Stark that a tree with a carved face had been luring away the men of the Night's Watch. “I was with them,” he said. “There were no wildlings nearby. They know better than to come so close to Castle Black, much less in bright daylight.”

“Then what do _you_ think happened?” Benjen asked.

The question caught Jaime off guard. “You're asking the opinion of an oathbreaker and a kingslayer. And a Lannister to boot. Lannisters lie. Has no one told you that, my lord?”

That seemed to startle the wolf pup. “You are at the Wall now. Whatever crimes you may have committed are a thing of the past.”

 _Are they?_ Jaime shook his head, suddenly feeling tired. “I don't know what happened. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. We traced his footprints for a mile and a half to a cave, but that was all we could find.”

“Let us go back down,” the First Ranger said. “The Lord Commander will be waiting for you, Lord Stark. There is much we still have to talk about, it would seem.”

It was dark by the time the lift had taken them back down and the wolf pup said his farewell. For half a heartbeat, Jaime almost expected the man to ask him to join them. But all the Stark said was “We should speak again,” before heading off with Mormont towards the Lord Commander's Keep.

The Common Hall was empty at this time of the day, looking almost as bleak as the turnip stew in his bowl. Jaime ate his dinner in silence until someone tapped him on the shoulder. _Uncle Kevan_.

Ser Kevan handed him a cup of ale. He looked even more tired than usual. His haggard face was more than Jaime could take. _Oh, the lions of the Wall... What a sorry lot we are, indeed._ He got up, taking his bowl and pushing the ale aside. “It is late. I should go.”

“You won't even sit and share a tankard of ale with your own blood?”

“I'm a brother of the Night's Watch now,” Jaime said. “I have no family. Neither do you, _brother_.”

It was meant as a jest, but his uncle glared at him. “Ned Stark would have let your father live if it hadn't been for you and your insufferable arrogance,” he said suddenly. “He would be here with us. Lord Varys said it right. Oftentimes the son must pay for the sins of the father, but it is a rare thing that the father would have to pay for the sins of the son.”

“My father did plenty of sinning himself,” Jaime countered. “You of all people should know that. You were never shy to kill at his behest. Go find me a Reyne or a Tarbeck at the Wall, uncle.” _Father was younger than me when he killed them all_. Somehow that thought unsettled him more than he could say.

The slap in his face burned and made his head ring. Jaime had to sit down not to lose balance. Ser Kevan was only half the man he used to be, but he was still strong and had put his full force into the strike. “Your father only ever did what he had to,” he said. “To make sure our house was respected.”

 _And look what a splendid job he did_ , Jaime thought, trying to push his father from his mind. But as always, the voice nagging at him in his head was persistent. _He ruled the Seven Kingdoms when he was my age, and here I am in this frozen wasteland, chasing wildlings and cleaning latrines._

He raised his jug, spilling beer onto the coarse wooden table. “Well, here's to his legacy, a brother and a son freezing their balls off at the Wall.” He drained the tankard in one go, slamming it down.

 _At least father never killed a king_ , he thought as he walked away, leaving Ser Kevan behind. _That honor is mine and mine alone._


End file.
